


What does he remember? / Submission for The Writer’s Block’s Secret Santa

by orphan_account



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Depressed TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Emotional Hurt, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28153095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A submission for The Writer's Block's Secret Santa event!My giftee was ImThatAcroBat / Mai- TW // S-lf-H-rm & S-icidal Th-ughtsA tale of Tommy's rapidly decaying mental state.
Relationships: i personally do not ship the minecraft men, no - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 91
Collections: the writer's block's Secret Santa





	What does he remember? / Submission for The Writer’s Block’s Secret Santa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ImThatAcroBat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImThatAcroBat/gifts).



> Mai I sincerely hope I make you cry with this 
> 
> ALSO I HOPE YOU'RE SATISFIED WITH IT!

Tommy frequented the vent channel in his small friend group’s discord server, usually left vague vents and rants, he didn’t want to pour out much anymore, he thinks they think he’s annoying because all he does is rant and vent. He thinks they think he’s just a little baby who cries at the smallest inconveniences (Well, not all that wrong there), he thinks they don’t care. After all, when you’re told something enough you start to believe it don’t you? It’s hard to believe that this mental state was created from the one or two remarks from some kids in fourth grade, it was hard to believe that this mental state was created from some kids talking about him behind his back with his popular friend to tell him what they said about him just the day after like a routine. It was hard to believe this mental state was created from the time some toxic discord server called him annoying on the daily in third grade. But it’s true, that’s why he’s like this, that’s why he constantly yells at himself and tells himself that he’s annoying.

Usually these bad feelings sprouted up like a small fever every few months or so, for a week. When did it get this bad, though? It’s like his brain just snuck up on him and robbed him of all the joy he ever had in living. 

Sometimes he just spills his guts out in the vent channel, it doesn't help, the weight on his chest doesn't get lighter, it gets heavier because  _ nobody cares _ and  _ they think he's seeking attention _ . Tommy yearns to tell his siblings Wilbur or Techno about the shit he goes through, he yearns to tell his father Phil. He yearned to cry into the arms of somebody who he trusted and somebody who understood. Whenever he was so close to it he would push himself away from it, because  _ they wouldn't care _ .

Tommy remembers snatching a razor from the cabinet of his dad's bathroom, taking it and retreating to his room. He remembers looking up on google 'How to tear apart razor', he remembers scrolling through the first results that said 'There is help' and chuckling to himself. Google doesn't know him, there is no help, that's why he's hit rock bottom and won't be planning on swimming up. He remembers bending the razor, trying to take it apart, he remembers shoving the half broken razor in between his legs to hide it when Wilbur opened the door, asking him if he wanted anything to eat. 

He remembers nodding and waiting for Wilbur to leave so he could continue tearing it apart. He remembers smiling to himself as he managed to get through all the plastic with just some cuts on his fingers, and forced himself to shove the blades into a cup full of pencils residing on his desk, he wouldn't cut himself, or at least not now. 

That was a lie, however, as he forced himself to pick up the largest razor and held it against his left wrist, shakily dragging lines across his wrist. He remembers feeling satisfied when the lines beaded up with blood, he remembers feeling satisfied when he snuck to the bathroom to dab away at the red liquid with toilet paper and water, no matter how much it burned.

He remembers feeling guilty about it, what if Phil discovered it, or Wilbur or Techno discovered it. Would he finally get the help he needed? He didn't want to find out, not yet, he wanted to suffer a bit longer.

He remembers not feeling very upset when his friends in a group chat brought up his grades again, telling him he was going to fail if he didn't start doing his work. He remembers not feeling surprised about the conversation topic again, where they go on and on about how online friends and Minecraft are temporary and him being a failure in life can be forever. He's not surprised, this conversation had happened about a hundred times before, no one in the group chat tried to stop them talking about it, and all agreed with them. When was anyone truly on his side, anyways?

He remembers feeling sad one day, whenever life throws a singular inconvenience at him it sours his entire mood and threw descriptive scenes of how he could go down at him. He hated it, he didn't want to live but he was very much a coward when it came to wanting to die. If there was a void he could reside in for the rest of his days he'd take it, he knows he would. He angrily slashes at his left wrist again, letting the blood bead up once more and he wiped it against bed sheets, he wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again, if he lay in his bed maybe soon enough he'd get his free trial of death.

He remembers hovering a hand over the medical cabinet in the kitchen, he wanted to open it and take what he could and kill himself with it. That plan was quickly foiled when Techno walked in for a drink, and Tommy had to walk out of the kitchen without making himself seem suspicious.

Tommy thinks it’s very, very pog, actually. That no matter how many short sleeved shirts he wears with cuts on his wrists, nobody thinks to look at his wrists, he twists them away from anyone who looks at him, turns his wrist down skillfully and with as little suspicion as possible. Sometimes he thinks that while it was very fortunate for him, what if they’ve seen it already, what if they’ve seen it and think nothing of it. What if they don’t care that he’s decaying right in front of them, what if they know and they shrug and turn a blind eye and pretend they didn’t see anything? 

Sometimes he thinks about what he wanted to do in the future, would he be unable to do it? Sometimes he decides, maybe by February he could be gone, he had too many things he wanted to do December and January, but by February he could be gone, he could jump and be done with it and forget all that ever happened in his life and hope that everybody forgets about him once he’s gone. 

Sometimes when he wakes up, he wants nothing better than to be asleep again, to abandon all his responsibilities. To stay in the void forever, maybe hang out with his imaginary friend Clara, anything but being awake in the mortal realm where everything was crushing him and yet he was still standing somehow. 

Sometimes he realizes, he feels so alone, he wonders why he’s so alone. He hates himself, he thinks nobody cares about him. Sometimes he realizes that the reason he feels this way is because he’s turned away every offer of help given to him, people gave up on him, people decided that because he was being so stubborn about it, he might as well suffer by himself. They’ve tried, they’re tired of trying to help him when he doesn’t even want the help. (He wants the help, but he doesn’t want to be pitied-)

He remembers being happy some days, even if it was with the people he was pretty sure did not like him anymore, had betrayed him even. Even so, that happy mood could be dampened with just a bad thought, and his horrible mood would continue on for the rest of the day, and the rest of the week maybe.

He remembers being horribly upset one day, he remembers pulling out his razors again and slashing at his wrists, reopening old wounds and creating fresh new ones in empty spaces. He remembers watching the blood bead up, and become too heavy and trickle down and he’d create spots of blood on his bed sheets, he remembers continuing and continuing and continuing on and he couldn’t hear anything else except the emotions buzzing in his head and he passed out from the shock (was it the shock? He doesn’t know how this shit works) and he could not remember Wilbur cracking open the door and seeing what a horrible scene it was because he was in the land of infinity.

He could not remember Wilbur calling for his brother and father for help and the ambulance sirens because he was in the land of infinity.

He could not hear the worries of his friends and family, because he was out in the land of infinity and he wished to stay in the land of infinity forever.

But he wishes he could escape the land of infinity and be with his family now.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope ur ok with just like. A cliffhanger of an ending, the brain said Hurt/Comfort lets do Recovery but also That wasnt the prompt so i think this is good enough- maybe i will continue this in a separate fic maybe i dont wanna kill tommy off that would not be pog


End file.
